


In Silence From my Shore

by lysanatt



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Chromatic Source, Fest/challenge: Dysfuncentine, M/M, Wordcount: 1.000-5.000
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-01
Updated: 2012-06-01
Packaged: 2017-11-06 12:31:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,781
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/418957
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lysanatt/pseuds/lysanatt
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Percy is longing for freedom. Caught in a dead marriage, duty keeps him in his place, although he betrays his wife and his heart in the process. Kingsley realises that the only escape from this dead water is yet another betrayal.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In Silence From my Shore

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Dysfuncentine. Prompt: "There's a room in the Ministry of Magic that only appears when people are seeking a location for an illicit sexual encounter."
> 
> Warning: Infidelity; not between pairing - if you squint there might be a happy end lurking somewhere.

So, you traitor, you really believed you'd keep  
this a secret, this great outrage? Steal away  
in silence from my shores?  
~Virgil, _The Aeneid_

**In Silence from My Shore**

He closes the door quietly as if not to overwhelm the memory of heartbeats, of bodies flush against the wall and each other. He closes the door softly, shutting it around the air and the walls that kept their tryst quiet and secret. His body is a memory. His skin burns from the touch of hard hands, his mouth tastes of the bitterness from their kiss. He longs for what has been and for what is to come. The room is quiet and soft: the walls dark from centuries, the bed heavy and welcoming. The fire that burns in the large marble fireplace reflects the fire that burns inside him. Oh, how he longs for what is to come.

His life is square, straight, filled with an immense _expectedness_. Everything is happening in a frame of _shoulds_ and _musts_ and _cannots_. It is suffocating. But he cannot get out. It is a straitjacket of being a husband, a father, a breadwinner. Life has made him helpless. Life has created this despicable creature, this coward. Every day, he stands at the shore of his life, watching the horizon, longing. Across the water, freedom awaits, but he cannot swim. He cannot drown. He cannot _dare_. Only here, inside this elusive room his wants and desires are set free.

Behind him the secret door opens and he turns around, already aroused from the thought of freedom, his body's freedom. 'Minister.' Percy turns around, ready to be taken, wanting it so badly, this liberation of his innermost needs. He tries to loosen his tie, but he is pushed back hard, up against the wall. 'No,' Kingsley whispers, his voice dark and dangerous, a threat to Percy's sanity. 'I want you like this, dressed and desperate with only your trousers open. I want your desperation,' the Minister for Magic growls, pushing a thigh between Percy's legs, 'since I can have little else.'

Percy almost sobs from relief when Kingsley embraces him. He reaches up, his arms around Kingsley's neck, kissing him; all the longing expressed in that one kiss. Deep and wet, he thrusts his tongue into Kingsley's mouth, tasting him, the slight smell of mint and tea; the same tea they shared while working on a document for the French Minister for Magic. Kingsley is right. Percy is desperate. He is desperately in love with Kingsley, his boss. He is desperate to feel him, to have him invade his body.

It happens only here, in this small room, between these secret walls. Perhaps it is their need which creates the velvet tapestries, the soft bed and the cold stone tiles. The rough bricks against Percy's back, rubbing him raw as Kingsley imprisons him between the wall and his body; a prison that Percy willingly enters, just to escape the cage that is his life outside the walls of the obscure room.

Kingsley's hands are upon his body, strong, large hands sliding over his chest, over his buttocks, into his trousers. A finger in his arse, slick with the incantation one of them has managed. Undulating hips, a probing finger, and Percy finds it almost impossible to toe off his shoes, but manages, holding on to Kingsley's broad shoulders, hiding his head at Kingsley's neck. The shame is unbearable. The thought of Audrey and their children makes Percy freeze for a second. 'I shouldn't be doing this.'

Roughly, Kingsley opens Percy's trousers, pushing them over his hips. The touch turns into a sudden roughness of nails and flesh. 'No. You said the same last week. And last year. And the year before.' Kingsley pulls Percy's head back, forces him to look into the eyes of treason. Kingsley's eyes are burning with a cold fire. 'Leave her.'

Percy murmurs the only words he knows will get to Kingsley. 'I can't. It's not fair.' No, it's not fair. Not to her, not to Kingsley. So Percy cheats and steals and betrays but he cannot stop. He is not ready for the consequences of his actions. All he knows is that in here, for half an hour, he feels alive, as if his life has something in it worth it all. He wants to tell Kingsley to leave him, too. But the answer will be the same. The Minister for Magic is, if nothing else consistent.

'I can't. I'm in love with you. I won't.'

It isn't fair. To none of the involved. Kingsley, Percy knows, is violating everything he believes in. They should stop. Both of them, but they can't. For an hour, an occasional hour, when their patience and morals have run out, they meet here, rekindling the fire that should have burned out long ago, but never does.

Percy's trousers land in a heap on the floor. They create a small island of discarded decency; the waves of lust and need tearing at them. 'In me,' Percy demands, wanting to have Kingsley close for as long as possible. With one hand, Kingsley opens his zip, pulling out his erection as he picks up Percy with a muscular arm around his back. Pressed against the wall, Percy holds himself up, arms and legs wrapped around Kingsley's body.

The pain is exquisite. Percy cries out, his fingers making creases in Kingsley's Savile Row suit. Kingsley's breath comes in strained little puffs against Percy's ear, choked moans, as if Kingsley will not let him hear what it does to him. Tightening his legs around Kingsley's waist, he forces Kingsley deeper inside him and he sobs, his fists round and hard against Kingsley's back.

'Mh, mh, mh.' Kingsley's grunts are deep and rough, and so is the way he takes Percy. Percy makes little trembling sounds; his pain is a purging of the trust they abuse. Audrey's trust. _If it hurts, it's all right_ is not the biggest lie Percy has told himself or others since this started far too long ago. His first was newborn; now the children are off to Hogwarts.

Kingsley's tongue in Percy's mouth makes him forget about marriage. Kingsley almost _eats_ him, sucking and biting his tongue and lips. 'Careful,' Percy groans. He cannot go back home, scratched and red-lipped. There has been lies enough and some of them are old now. Kingsley's kiss marks on his neck. Kingsley's semen in his underwear. Kingsley's body on his mind every time he goes to bed with Audrey, trying to get an erection, pushing his limp dick into her cunt, thinking only of Kingsley's cock in his arse.

The room is filled with the sound of bodies. The slick, slurping sounds of tongues and cocks. The slapping of Kingsley's bollocks against Percy's arse. The hoarse moans and the strained breathing. 'Hurry,' Percy urges. 'I have a meeting in fifteen minutes.'

'Fuck.' Kingsley speeds up, ramming his cock into Percy. 'Could have said that earlier,' he grunts and slams in again and again, mashing Percy between his chest and the wall. Percy likes it because it hurts more. It burns, and when they leave the room their desire have burnt out.

Until next time.

Kingsley makes a sound, almost like someone dying. He spasms, thrusting a few times before he stops. He gasps for air, just standing there with his cock buried in Percy's arse. Percy can feel warm fluid seeping out of his hole; a mix of oil and semen and sweat. He stinks. He's dirty. They both are. 'I'm sorry,' Percy whispers, not entirely certain what he is apologising for.

Frowning, Kingsley says nothing. 'Don't. Don't diminish this.'

They stand there, two middle-aged men, one betraying his wife, the other his heart. Traitors both, only the love between them, abused, quelled, ruined, is still breathing, refusing to die, despite their attempts to kill it.

'I have a meeting,' Percy says and uses his wand to erase the traces of their intimacy.

They both fumble with zips and ties and trousers, encased in each their loneliness.

'I can't do this any longer,' Kingsley says and pulls Percy into a kiss which with every stroke of a tongue, with every move of lips tells another tale.

'I love you,' Percy says and walks out the door. It closes behind him, seamlessly hiding their meeting place.

\- 0 -

Kingsley stands there, forlorn, lost. All the power, all the strength he possessed, has left him. The fire has burnt down and shadows are creeping out from the corners. Darkness is awaiting. Darkness is _here_.

He finds a mask that suits him, hiding the pain behind a wall of duty. He waits another minute, then another, securing Percy's retreat. If they were seen...

He opens the door and closes it as quietly as when they came. He does not want to overwhelm the memory of heartbeats, of bodies flush against the wall and each other. He closes the door softly, shutting it around the air and the walls that kept their tryst quiet and secret. His body is a memory. His skin burns from the touch of hard hands, his mouth tastes of the bitterness from their kiss. He longs for what has been. He does not know any longer what is to come. He walks through the cold corridors of the Ministry, wearing an invisible cloak of shame and defeat and longing.

If they were seen...

Kingsley turns around, in the opposite direction of his office. He walks through a narrow corridor, cold stones and draught, to the Ministry's Owlery.

 _It's not fair_. No. It isn't. Kingsley carefully offers his arm to an anonymous owl, one which does not belong to the Ministry. 'Please?' He holds his hand still as the owl accepts. _It's not fair_. No, it certainly isn't. And if they were seen? If they were discovered? If they were forced to face the consequences of their illicit relationship? Would they drown or float?

No, it wouldn't be fair, but it is the only chance they have. They can both swim.

He conjures a quill and a sheet of paper.

 _You do not know me, but I will direct your attention to a certain room hidden in the Ministry of Magic,_ he writes. Kingsley addresses the note to _Miss Rita Skeeter, the Daily Prophet_.

It takes him only a few minutes to write the note, to betray everything he is and everything he ever believed in. He watches the bird slip through a narrow tunnel, heading for the world outside.

If they were seen...

Kingsley walks back to his office and braces himself for the flood and the purging fire.


End file.
